


Don't Touch That

by agdhani



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: M/M, Thursday Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3295010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agdhani/pseuds/agdhani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not ever whiskey bottle contains whiskey</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Touch That

“No…mate…don’t drink that…”

Too late. Even though John swatted the glass bottle out of Chas’ hands, spilling most of the contents upon the floor as the bottle shattered, his friend had managed a gulp or two of the pale amber fluid. “Bollocks!” he swore at the sound and the pungent smell that was permeating the room.

“That tastes like crap…” Chas tried to brush the spilled liquid from his shirt in disgust.

“Cause it is, mate,” he swore again, scrambling to sweep up the broken shards before he and his bare feet met with an untimely amount of unnecessary pain.

“Ew…” Chas wrinkled his lips and nose and tried spitting the bitter taste from his mouth.

“To be fair, I did tell you not to…”

“After I already was!”

“You always go around drinking unknown liquids from unmarked bottles?”

“I thought it was whiskey.”

John muttered, “Fair enough,” beneath his breath. The bottle had looked like a whiskey bottle…and considering the other empty one sitting beside it, along with an empty glass, the assumption had been an easy one to make.

“What the hell was that?”

“You don’t want to know…”

Chas narrowed his eyes. The burning in his throat and stomach was no dissipating, spreading throughout his body, filling him with a euphoric warmth.

“It’s not going to kill me, is it? Turn me green? Transform me into a rat or cause me to break out in boils?” His speech already carried the blissful slur of inebriation and he spread his hands upon the wooden table to lean forward close enough to John that the blonde could see the flush creeping up his neck and cheeks.

It was a struggle not to roll his eyes. It had started already…and he was not equipped to undo the damage yet. “No…nothing like that. Look, mate…why don’t you go get that shower you were mentioning, eh? Leave me to this then we can get some dinner…”

“And dessert?” Chas purred, his head low to John’s as he passed, one hand dragging over the blonde’s ass. John frowned but did his best to ignore the touch.

“We’ll see, old son…we’ll see…” was what he said, but what he thought, as he flipped pages in the tome on the desk before him now, was entirely different.

Chas was almost out of the room before he spoke again, turning with a crooking finger that John saw only out of the corner of his eye. “You can join me if you want…”

“Busy now, Chas…” Damn that man. Why did he have to go and ruin a perfectly good artifact? How was John supposed to recreate it…or find an antidote…now?

“Suit yourself…I’ll be waiting…” His tone was both disappointed and enticing, and in spite of himself, John felt stirrings that went against everything he and Chas stood for. Nope, he thought with a shake of his head. Not going to go there. Not going to ruin a perfectly good friendship because of one mis-consumed potion.

In the back of his awareness, he listened to the water running in the distance while he feverishly worked to complete what he hoped would be a reversing antidote. Only testing it, of course would indicate his success, and though he did not want to use Chas as a guinea pig, the man had accidentally forced him into a position where there was no choice. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen minutes later, when he had lost focus on the sound of the shower, footsteps were suddenly there beside him, arms around him, hands groping where they should not be, making John tense in surprise.

“What are you doing? Can I help?”

The press of the larger body behind his was too damn distracting. “Uh…no mate…why don’t you…?” John turned, hoping to slide out of that grasp or at least to work Chas big hands into some place other than cupped around his groin. His turning, however, loosened the towel Chas wore around his waist, causing it to drop to the floor, leaving John dumbfounded with a now nude body pressed to his.

“Chas…” Chas began to try to pull John’s shirt from his trousers, humming, purring as he bent low to kiss the side of John’s neck.

“Chas…” He tried to push the bigger man away, but Chas was stronger, his interest more persistent, and so he ignored John’s efforts.

“Chas…” This had to stop now, and there was only one way he could think of to end it. “Sorry, mate,” he muttered before drawing back and hitting Chas with enough force to cause him to stagger backwards, reeling, and drop to the wet floor in a stunned, silent heap.

The thump of the millhouse door closing had barely registered, the footsteps on the stairs the same, but when Zed squeaked, “John!” upon witnessing the blow.

“Don’t blame me! He started it!” John exclaimed in frustration, retrieving the damp towel and taking the time to cover Chas’ hips with it. “Not my fault! I warned him…watch the floor, luv…there may still be glass…”

Kneeling over Chas, Zed patted his face to wake him, but Chas did no more than mutter, “I love you, John,” with a goofy, love-struck grin upon his unconscious face. Zed scowled up at John.

“Help me get him onto the couch at least…we can’t leave him on the floor…”

“Good idea, luv.” Between the two of them they hoisted Chas’ bulk and dragged him to the couch near the fireplace. The towel was lost in the process, but there was a blanket slung over the back of the couch which she used to cover him. “What did he drink? What did this to him?”

“Satirio potion, said to have been brewed by Circe herself…guaranteed to make someone fall for the very next person they see…or so it’s said…”

“A love potion? You gave Chas a love potion?”

“I didn’t give him anything,” John scolded, returning to the desk and the manuscripts he had been studying. “He helped himself without knowing what he was doing…and, might I add, without listening to me when I told him not to…”

“Will it wear off?”

“How the bloody hell should I know? I got it from a client asking the same questions…wanting an antidote…which is what I was looking for before Chas decided to give me a bit of a fancy. He didn’t drink much…so maybe. In the meantime…how about you keep an eye on him, luv? Distract him…keep him out of my hair…” Literally, he mused, raking his hand through the hair that Chas’ nuzzling had mussed, “and let me do my job. If I can find a way to reverse it, I will…”

Still scowling, Zed sat on the edge of the sofa, putting down the backpack of art supplies she had been carrying. “You’d better,” she muttered. It wasn’t like a love potion was dangerous, but it irked her nonetheless.

“Believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do,” John snorted without looking at her, his focus returning in earnest to finding a solution to Chas’ problem. Or rather, to John’s problem, for as long as he was under the influence, Chas wasn’t going to see his amorous attention as anything other than a blessing.

Zed decided to stay where she was, leaving her seat only long enough to bring Chas some clothes that he could put on when he came around. Sketchbook in hand, she drew his sleeping face; she had drawn a lot of John before she met him, and occasionally after, always in connection to visions in her head that demanded to be put onto paper. When she drew Chas, it was for fun, his bearded countenance always interesting to her for both its sternness as well as for its gentleness. Her study of his face told her he was waking before his eyes opened, and she hurriedly set the sketchbook down, closing it so that he could not see how she saw him.

He groaned, clutched his jaw before opening his eyes, and then, when he did, smiled at her. “Hey, Zed…what…?”

“You hit it when you fell,” she hastily assured him, hoping he did not remember that John had hit him…for reasons she could only imagine judging by his state of undress and the disheveled nature of John’s.

“I…?” he began, trying to sit but only succeeding in propping himself on his elbow as his vision swam.

Hastily shoving his clothes at him, aware of John’s side-eyeing gaze, Zed offered, “Why don’t you help me make dinner…”

At the mention of dinner, Chas’ features softened with infatuation. “Oh, John and I are going out for…”

Zed glared at John, who quickly chimed, “Eh, sorry old son…works taking me longer than expected. If you and Zed could whip up something instead, that would be grand…”

“But you said…”

“Another time, mate…I promise.” Considering the number of meals he and Chas had shared together over the years, it was a promise John could easily keep…preferably after he undid what the potion had done.

“Something special then…” Chas grabbed his pants, threw the blanket aside, and began putting them on after Zed stood and turned her back. “I think we have lamb…or some nice chops maybe…”

“Sure…whatever. Surprise me.” He and Zed exchanged scowls, preferable, he reluctantly admitted, to locking eyes with Chas’ fawning, puppy-dog gaze as the two passed him.

Hoping they would choose to prepare something that would take a long time to cook, John worked feverishly, finding two separate ‘recipes’ of his own that were said to counter the effects of the potion Chas had consumed. He had the ingredients for one and as he followed the instructions to the letter, he muttered prayers to anyone, any entity who might still listen to him, that this would work. The other was going to be much more complicated to create, and he did not think he could survive a month of preparation time with Chas mooning and groping him.

Chas, in the kitchen, was happily doing a little cooking of his own. “Isn’t he the hottest thing ever?” he giggled. “I could just…”

Not wanting to hear what this side of Chas wanted to do with John, Zed quickly interrupted, “Don’t let him hear you say it. You know how things like that go to his head…”

“They really don’t…he just lets us think they do…he’s just a lonely little boy in need of…”

“Maybe.” There was certainly that side of John; she heard it, saw it, in moments where he did not think anyone would notice. But she did not think that all of his arrogance was borne of insecurities, fears, and regrets. John was too complicated to believe that.

“He needs a good shagging…” Chas smirked and took a few more ingredients from the refrigerator.

Zed raised her hand to stop him from saying more. “TMI, Chas…let’s just get this ready, okay? He’ll be starving by the time he’s through.”

“Yes. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach after all…or his…”

“Nope…don’t want to hear it, Chas.”

The bearded man laughed and kept further thoughts to himself, though he hummed, sung softly to himself, and chuckled and laughed his way through the rest of dinner preparations. He set the table with the best settings he could find, though few of the items were from matched sets any longer. The lamb he had promised was the meal’s centerpiece, and by the time John joined them with a wine bottle in one hand and a full glass in the other, the rest of the meal had joined the lamb.

“Wine…of course…I should have thought…” Chas’ expression showed uncharacteristic regret, as if he had somehow failed or disappointed John by forgetting.

John hurriedly attempted to encourage him, setting the full glass at his own place and then filling Chas’ glass first with a warning glance at Zed. Whatever was in that bottle was not for anyone’s consumption but their friend’s. “Nonsense, mate. It’s all good…”

“I’ll pass on the wine,” Zed said, though her look at John threatened that this had better work. If she had to listen to Chas continue to sing John’s praises, carry on about his attractiveness and perfection, she thought she would tear out her hair.

The bottle was set near Chas’ plate. He picked up the glass with one hand and with his other arm around John’s waist, pulled the blonde close against him. “Give John his glass…we need a toast…”

“No, mate…”John protested. But Zed had already shoved John’s glass into his hand and lifted her water glass for the toast. As much as she did not enjoy seeing Chas this way, it was amusing to watch John squirming uncomfortably.

“To John Constantine…my friend…the best, most handsome, smartest, most fearsome man I know. May we always be friends…and more…”  
Chas upended his glass, draining it in a few large gulps while John made a show of drinking his own when he barely let the red liquid touch his lips. He set the glass down and reached for the bottle to refill Chas’ glass, but the man’s big hand caught his chin, turned John’s face towards his own, and then planted a kiss squarely on John’s mouth.

John froze, able only to stare at Chas wide eyed and hold his breath. Two seconds. Five seconds. Eight. Afraid to exhale, his body tightened in response to Chas’ sudden stiffness. Over the next few seconds, the bearded man blinked, a change coming over his glazed eyes that prompted him to release John’s chin, lower his hand, and draw back slowly, mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish as he tried to put into words the crash of thoughts rolling over him.

“Tell me I didn’t just…?” he sputtered as John backed quickly away, the eye contact with his friend now lost.

“I’m afraid you did,” Zed replied with a mirthful grin relieved that John’s counter-agent had apparently done the trick.

Mortified, Chas filled his glass and emptied its contents “John…look, I’m…”

John shook his head and waved his hand, sitting now at the opposite side of the table, as far from Chas as it would allow. “Let’s just forget about it, eh?”

Chas dropped into his chair, looking at the meal spread before them, grateful to do exactly what John said for once. Maybe later he would get to the root of the hazy, embarrassing memories that fluttered around his head. Right now, eating, drinking, and forgetting sounded like the best idea he could think of.

From the looks on their faces, Zed and John felt exactly the same.


End file.
